


Thomas and the Pig

by angryessays



Series: Adventures of Thomas Barrow [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Kind-of Prostitution, Kind-of Scat, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 20:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryessays/pseuds/angryessays
Summary: Thomas finds himself in a shitty situation while trying to earn some money from a rich business man with a few kinks up his sleeve.





	Thomas and the Pig

Thomas couldn’t believe his ears. He asked Mr. Johnson to repeat himself.

“I want you to rub shite into my skin. You were a medic, weren’t you? You shouldn’t be squeamish about these things!” the man whispered, his heavy hand pulling Thomas’s shoulder down so he could reach his ear. “It’s quite moisturizing, I say! Not to mention the purest, best fun! Don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for Thomas to respond before saying, “I’ll see you in my room.”

Thomas knew coming to London for a weekend away with a rich businessman was a bad idea when one of his acquaintances at the Lavender Champagne Flute told him about the opportunity. He was getting paid, of course—for being a “temporary valet”— but it was no longer worth the money in his eyes. Still, he needed whatever he could get, and he had been able to make a connection with a rather handsome footman who worked for this disgusting creature.

Anyway, he had only a few minutes before he had to be in the room. He had to think quickly.

~

Thomas entered the lavish bedroom to find Mr. Johnson already undressed on the bed. Thomas did his best to pretend to be into it. He instructed Mr. Johnson to get onto all fours, facing the headboard, and blindfolded him with a tie. “I’ll be right back. Don’t you peak!” Thomas looked around the room and grabbed one of Mr. Johnson’s expensive, monogrammed socks. As he quietly exited the room, he shoved his left hand into the sock to use as a glove.

Once out of earshot of Mr. Johnson’s bedroom, Thomas ran all the way to the basement and out the servant’s door to the small garden space behind the house, where Mr. Johnson kept his massive, imported dog. He didn’t have trouble finding what he needed, and ran back upstairs to the bedroom. Once there, he asked, “Are you ready, Mr. Johnson?”

The man squealed like a pot-bellied pig, which wasn’t a far-off comparison given his pink skin, rotund figure, and current pose. Thomas, holding his nose with his right hand, gingerly smeared the dog’s feces onto Mr. Johnson’s exposed rump. Mr. Johnson began making horrific sounds, only for them to be cut off by ragged breathing, and finally a cry of ecstasy. Mr. Johnson then collapsed onto the bed and, within seconds, was snoring. Thomas carefully removed the sock from his hand and flung it onto the bed. He knew from Mr. Johnson’s extravagant and flashy lifestyle that he kept a tightly-packed billfold in his breast pocket, and thankfully the man didn’t bother to pick any of his clothes up off the floor, where they’d fallen when he stripped down earlier. Thomas found the money easily and removed his agreed-upon pay—plus a fee for mental scarring—and slipped out the door, down the stairs, and off into the night.


End file.
